


Fuckin' Teenagers

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dad!Castiel, Dad!Dean, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel, Family, Gen, M/M, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times that make Dean question why they ever thought it was a good idea to take in Claire and one time it makes total sense.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14; takes place early 2015 in the Light's Grace!verse, although it could be read as a stand alone piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuckin' Teenagers

**Author's Note:**

> So. Much. Fluff. (because I'm in a fluffy Dad!Dean and Dad!Cas mood since watching 10x20)
> 
>  
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: March 2015-June 2015**  
>  **Some of this overlaps earlier sections of the series.

  1. **Roll Back**



“ _Your_ car isn’t a standard; how come _I’ve_ gotta learn how to drive this stupid freaking thing…” Claire gripes after stalling out for the third time in the empty parking lot where they are practicing.

“Well, your options are 1) walk 2) save up and get your own damn car or 3) learn to drive stick and get free awesomely classic wheels, because lemme tell ya, driving Baby ain’t gonna happen, and I know you wouldn't be caught dead driving Cas' car. Your choice, kiddo,” Dean smirks. “Ok, so take a deep breath. There’s no one here, no traffic or anything. Just take your time with it. It’s an old clutch so you gotta ease it off slow anyway.”

Claire mutters some choice words under her breath—something to the effect of “Why don’t _you_ go ease off”—but she takes Dean’s advice and tries it again. The car lurches forward and she manages to get it up to third gear (there isn’t really enough room to go much faster) before Dean tells her to stop and try it again. She clumsily downshifts after a few doughnuts around the lot. Two more rounds and Dean finally suggests they give it a shot on the road. Claire looks at him dubiously, but edges the car out of the parking lot.

The roads are pretty open; Dean had bombed Claire out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn on a Sunday for just this reason, although he did stop at a Starbucks to get her one of those overpriced “coffees” that she and Sam seem to like (Dean’s of the opinion that if you can’t order it in just “small”, “medium”, or “large” and if there are more options than sugar or milk/cream, it doesn’t really count as coffee). They tool around on the backroads so that Claire can get used to shifting gears. She stalls once at a stop sign, although Dean admits it had more to do with getting startled by a jogger who came outta nowhere and almost ended up as the green 1950s Ford’s new hood ornament. They both give each other wide-eyed looks and half-panicked/half-relieved “whews” after that. The more they drive, the more people end up on the road with them and Claire starts to get a little more nervous. But, so far so good…

…which of course means the other shoe is about to drop (which, Dean reflects, is like Winchester 101 and he should really stop being surprised when it happens).

They stop at a red light on a smallish, but steep, hill. Dean starts reminding her of how to do hill-starts and to not let the car roll back, when a tank of an SUV pulls up right on their ass. Like seriously, Dean starts wondering if he should clear out the back seat to make room for their guests. Claire’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror and Dean sees her face blanche.

“Claire, you got this. If you roll back and hit him, serves the asshole right. But you won’t, k?”

Claire nods, her eyes fixed on the red light. It goes green and before Dean can coach her, Claire stomps on the gas, releases the clutch, and burns rubber, tires screeching through the intersection. Dean swears he almost gets whiplash as he’s jerked back in his seat.

Her knuckles are white on the wheel and stick, and she gives him a shaky grin. He laughs, “Well, you didn’t roll back…”

Claire’s grin widens and she lets out a laugh as well. Eventually, she turns on the radio, tuning to some pop station, ignoring the glower Dean sends her. He’s about to complain about the saccharine awfulness assaulting his ears, but Claire just looks over at him and hits him with one rule he can’t argue against: “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!”

Fuckin’ teenagers.

 

 

 

  1. **Old School**



 

Dean looks up from his laptop as Claire clatters down the steps into the bunker in that controlled fall that only teenagers seem capable of doing without injury. She slings her school bag onto a chair at the map table in the War Room and starts to make her way to the kitchen, but Dean stops her.

“So, uh, wanna tell me why you’ve got a 63 in History?” he asks in exaggerated calm.

Claire whirls on her heels to face him. “Oh my God, did you talk to my teachers?!” she demands, scandalized.

Dean just rolls his eyes. “They post your grades online, Claire. Cas got the login when we registered you for classes. Plus, even if they didn’t give parents access, it’d probably take Charlie all of thirty seconds to hack it if I asked.”

“Ugh,” Claire huffs.

“You still haven’t answered my question. What’s up with the 63? You bombed an essay and have two missing assignments.”

“The essay wasn’t my fault!” she cries, exasperated. Dean just raises an eyebrow. “I had Cas help me write it.”

Understanding dawns on Dean and he starts laughing. “Claire, you know better than that. You’re supposed to just regurgitate the fucking textbook; don’t pull a Sammy and try and actually research that crap. And definitely don’t use Cas for that shit.”

“I figured asking Cas would be easier! He’s like a walking Wikipedia! I didn’t know that according to him the textbook is _wrong_! So now my teacher thinks I just made crap up and I couldn’t exactly tell her my source was a fallen angel who was actually _there_ when they built the stupid Parthenon.”

“Rookie move.”

“Yeah, I know,” Claire grumbles.

“Still doesn’t explain the missing assignments.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get ‘em in,” she sighs. “We done now?”

“Sure. If they’re not in by Friday, I’m emailing your teacher.” He gives her his best shit-eating grin.

“Fine already!” she exclaims and stalks off.

Dean watches her go, shakes his head, then rubs his eyes with the base of his palms.

 

 

  1. **(not) Next to Godliness**



 

Whoever said boys were grosser than girls clearly has not seen the bathroom since Claire moved in. Ok, so maybe Dean has a bit of thing about germs and cleanliness, but dear God this is just _not_ right.

“CLAIRE!” he bellows.

“What?!” she calls back from her room.

“Get in here!”

“God, Dean, what?” Claire huffs as she stalks into the bathroom.

Dean points at the sink counter, which is littered with makeup, nail polish, and hair products and accessories. A very light beige powder covers half of the sink—he assumes this is…what’s it called…foundation?—and that hair brush is so tangled in blonde strands that it looks like it’s going to get up and walk off the counter all on its own.

Toiletries aside, there’s also clothing scattered about: a couple spaghetti strap shirts, a pair of skinny jeans, a bra, and a pair of Chucks are strewn on the floor, along with a damp towel lying forgotten behind the door.

“I’m pretty fucking sure none of this is mine or Cas’ or Sam's—not even the hair brush—so you’re cleaning it up. _Now_. I want to shower and get rid of the smell of fucking grave dirt and I want to do it yesterday, you get what I’m saying?”

“Fine,” Claire grumbles as Dean leaves.

_Shoulda gone back to the fucking motel…All I wanted was a nice shower with some good water pressure in a non-skeevy bathroom. That too much to ask?_

Apparently it is.

 

 

 

  1. **Date Night**



 

“You got my back on this, right, Cas?” Dean asks sternly.

“Of course, Dean. I don’t like it any more than you do. Claire can do better.” Cas settles back into his chair and opens up his book, obviously content to wait patiently until Claire arrives.

Dean sighs, fidgets in his chair, then finally kicks his feet up onto the table and pulls out his phone. He sees a message from Charlie and quickly swipes the screen unlocked, reads the text, and responds.

 

**_7:26 pm_ **

You know she’s gonna kill you right?

**_7:32 pm_ **

Yep. Dont care. Besides cas agrees with me

**_7:33 pm_ **

Cas *always* agrees with you

**_7:34 pm_ **

No he doesnt...but he should cause im always right

**_7:35 pm_ **

Don’t even start that bullshit with me, winchester. But i agree with you on this one too. Good luck! :)

**_7:35 pm_ **

Thx

 

About two minutes later, Claire walks in, freshly showered and makeup-ed and in a black and gold shirt just this side of being too tight. Dean just gives her a cool expression, his feet still up on the table. Cas closes his book and lays it aside.

“Uh, what are those?” she asks accusingly, pointing to the objects on the table not far from Dean’s boots.

“Those,” Dean drawls, “would be spark plugs from your car.”

“What the hell, Dean! You know I’m heading out in like five minutes!”

“I believe that is exactly why there are spark plugs on the library table,” Cas deadpans.

“Uggghhh,” Claire growls gutturally. “This is about Liam, isn’t it?!”

“Uh huh. You ain’t going anywhere tonight. You’re not breaking the first rule of the secret bunker by giving him directions here to pick you up, and unless you plan on hotwiring my car or Cas’—which I really really do _not_ recommend if you value your life—you’re fucking stuck here.” Dean fights hard not to let his eyes roll back into his skull when he sees Claire jut out her hip and cross her arms. _Seriously, is that like programmed into all teenage girls?_

“And I wouldn’t suggest trying to ‘sneak out’; I’m sure we can find wards to prevent that or tracking spells to find you,” Cas adds, almost casually looking over the library stacks.

“ _Why_ are you making such a big deal about this? It’s just a date!”

“Dean and I do not believe Liam is a suitable boyfriend for you,” Cas says mildly, but there’s no mistaking the absolute seriousness in his voice and expression. “We only want what is best for you.”

“What’s wrong with Liam?!”

“How about we start with the fact that he’s a creepy unemployed twenty-five year-old with a rap sheet and you’re a seventeen year-old high schooler?” Dean glowers at her.

“Technically, you’re an unemployed thirty-six year-old with a rap sheet, and Cas is a bagillion years old, if you want to talk about cradle-robbing,” Claire spits back.

Dean grinds his teeth, trying very hard not to absolutely snap.

“That is hardly the same thing, Claire.” Cas’ voice is gravelly and Dean can tell that he’s becoming agitated as well: Cas’ expression is about one step short of holy smite; Dean’s glad not to be on the receiving end for a change.

“This is so not fair. I’m seventeen—I can make my own decisions. You don’t get to pick who I date and hang out with! And I’ve decided on Liam.”

“Really, you want to play the ‘I’m a good judge of character’ card?” Dean asks coldly. He doesn’t want to say the name ‘Randy’ because he doesn’t want to rehash his own murderous rage, but he tries to give her a look that tries to convey _Do not make me bring up Illinois._

“You guys suck,” Claire half-shouts and storms out of the library back to her room.

Cas sighs and turns to Dean. “That went well.”

Dean takes his feet off the table and leans forward in his chair with a groan. “Ugh, who did we piss off in a former life to deserve this? Didn’t I already do my fair share of time in Hell?” The conversation replays in his mind and something Cas said sticks out. “Do we really have anti-sneaking out wards and tracking spells?”

“I have no idea,” Cas shrugs with a small conspiratorial smile.

“You sly sonofabitch,” Dean laughs, and gets up to kiss his angel.

 

 

 

  1. **A Lesson**



 

Dean can hear clattering in the kitchen as someone rummages around the cabinets and plunks things down on the metal counter. _Goddammit, I just cleaned in there,_ he thinks before having a bit of a panic attack about who could possibly be cooking something that needs that many supplies. Cas is a decent cook, but he only does so when he’s helping Dean, and as far as Dean knows, Claire’s got the toaster and the microwave down pat and that’s it; maybe she knows how to do more, but if she does, she hasn’t shown it yet.

As soon as he walks in, the rattling stops and Claire looks up guiltily from several bowls, measuring cups, the assorted containers with flour and sugars, a grocery bag of apples, and various other supplies.

“Dean!” she squeaks. “I thought you were with Sam on that case!”

“Yeah, we just got back. So…uh…whatcha doin’?” he asks somewhat suspiciously.

“I…uh…”

It’s pretty obvious what she’s doing, but Dean can’t figure out the _why_ …or why she looks like she just got her hand caught in the cookie jar. He doesn’t repeat his question, just gives her a raised eyebrow.

“Iaccidentlyknockedoversomethingthatlookedexpensiveandbrokeit,” she mumbles.

That catches Dean’s attention. With all the crazy stuff in the bunker, you never know what you might unleash if something’s broken. “Where was it? Did it have weird markings on it?” he asks worriedly.

“Um, it was in the library. Ugly goblet thing on that table near the entrance?”

“The blue one or the green one?”

“Blue.”

Dean grins, relieved. “Good. Don’t worry about it. That was just some prop for LARPing of Charlie’s that somehow ended up in my stuff. I can get her another one. I almost gave her the green one, but then Sam said it might be some…actually I don’t know what it is. All I heard was ‘ancient blah blah blah.’ So…what’s with the Betty Crocker show?”

“I thought if I made you pie you wouldn’t be as mad when you found out I broke the goblet thing.”

“Smart girl.” He looks around the kitchen. “You ever made one before?”

“…no?” Claire admits sheepishly. “Brownies out of the box are more my thing. I found your recipe, though.”

Dean’s heart twinges. It’s actually his mom’s recipe; he’d found it tucked away in an envelope with some old photos after John died. He gives Claire a bittersweet smile.

“Can you…teach me how?” she asks. “I mean, the surprise is kinda ruined now I guess…and it’d probably turn out like crap if I did it on my own.”

Dean nods, not trusting himself to speak. He pulls Claire into a one-armed hug as he settles in beside her at the counter, gathering ingredients to start making the crust.

Two hours later, Cas comes into find one delicious looking pie on the counter, Dean and Claire looking like they’ve both aged suddenly from the flour in their hair, and the sounds of bickering over who won the food fight.

Two weeks later, they’re still finding flour in every nook and cranny.

**Author's Note:**

> As a random note, I remember seeing [a light green car in the Men of Letter's garage](http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131030014729/supernatural/images/d/d2/Garage.jpg) (I have no idea what kind of car is it is...not a car person in the slightest; if you know what it is, let me know and I'll fix it), and I picked that one for Claire because it made me think of Claire Fisher from Six Feet Under and her weirdly awesome [green hearse](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51XyJN6Y%2BWL._SL500_AA280_.jpg).
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! :)


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